Here it is, the great granddaddy of 'em all (if by "all" you mean monster movies), James Whale's 1931 creature feature Frankenstein. Based on Mary Shelley's iconic, Gothic horror novel from 1818, the film was quickly green lit by execs at Universal after the wild success of Dracula. Whale promptly recast the lead; Universal originally wanted Bela Lugosi to play the part, choosing Boris Karloff as his murderous and (in Whale's sympathetic hands) misunderstood monster.
Let me just say, this is one handsome movie. Many of the shots are firmly under the spell of German Expressionism and the look of the thing capably resonates a creeping terror throughout. And though they might seem a little dated, the performances are great across the board. Karloff is a mountain of decaying flesh here and it's the role for which he'll always be remembered. Many folks champion Whale's sequel, Bride of Frankenstein, and I can certainly follow (and might even agree with) that argument, but the original film still retains a power that can't be denied.
For two afternoons only, the Hollywood Theatre has a 35mm print of this classic horror film available for Portland film fans to enjoy. Don't hesitate, 'cause it'll be gone before you know it. 'Tis the season, after all.
Frankenstein plays at the Hollywood Theatre on Saturday, October 13th and Sunday, October 14th at 2pm.More info available here.
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It's safe to say that Emily Brontë's famed 1847 novel Wuthering Heightshas seen more that its fair share of screen adaptations;IMDb lists fifteen such entries. Somehow, I'd only seen the 1939 William Wyler version with Merle Oberon, Laurence Olivier, and David Niven, a rather flowery, stiff affair that carries the strong whiff of being based on important literature. That early version tells the story, but little else is conveyed by its capable performers and workmanship-like production.
When it was announced some time back that Andrea Arnold's next film would be a new take on Wuthering Heights, it seemed an odd fit. Her work on Fish Tank and Red Road had shown her to be one of the most promising contemporary directors on the British scene, garnering positive comparisons to the social realist cinema of Ken Loach. But how, exactly, would the application of her most lauded techniques--the use of handheld cameras, wide-open, dialogue-free spaces, and an emphasis on the environments in which her characters live--work when set against a 19th century period piece? Incredibly well, it turns out.
Andrea Arnold's Wuthering Heights isn't like most period pieces. If there's a comparison to be had, it's with Jane Campion's last feature, the magnificently composed Bright Star. Both pieces shed the sterility so often associated with costume dramas, dirtying up the clothing worn by the characters and allowing period dialogue to flow from the actors mouths in an organic manner that communicates both its basis in reality and its meaning. It's an approach that offers a sense of life to what might otherwise come off as nothing more than filmed theater.
As with her prior projects, Arnold's take on this material engages deeply with issues of class and gender. She's also recast Brontë's Heathcliff (Solomon Glave as the younger version, James Howson as the elder one) as Afro-Carribbean, adding a telling analysis of racial inequity via Heathcliff's struggle to seen by his adopted family and loved openly by his Catherine (Shannon Beer as an adolescent, Kaya Scodelario as an adult).
None of these concerns are forced, as Arnold integrates everything into a
film that quietly watches over the lives of these people, observing
their emotional lives and circumstances, rather than placing the audience into a formally set stage where the actors project performative representations of lives lived. Arnold slowly paints these characters in additive strokes that cumulatively forms the framework for her retelling of the story.
Highly supportive to this bold vision is the work of cinematographer Robbie Ryan
who has crafted the best version of the visual style
they've been exploring during his long-running collaboration with Arnold. Ryan's camera imparts the chill of the landscape, the smell of the earth, and the warmth (and great lack thereof) of the bodies that roam these spaces. When Heathcliff sorrowfully lies back in the pouring rain, there's a sense of danger and urgency promoted by the imagery that's palpable to the senses.
Fish Tank was the best film I saw in 2010. Wuthering Heights is among a handful of titles from 2012 that I expect to be thinking about and revisiting for years to come. Andrea Arnold is more than just a promising talent; she may be the best working director out there. Wuthering Heights, like all of her films thus far, isn't fashioned for those expecting quick thrills, easy explanations, or happy endings, but it is a great work of art made at a time where, more and more, art films seem to be falling out of fashion. My advice: resist giving in to your reservations about slow cinema, period dramas, and art films. Wuthering Heights may not be for everyone, but to my own set of aesthetic sensibilities, it's exactly the kind of cinema that I want to see when I go to the movies.
Highly recommended.
Wuthering Heights begins its run at Cinema 21 on Friday, October 12th. More info available here.
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3, 2, 1...Frankie Go Boom is another one of those manic comedies based in familial strife where none of the characters behave like anyone ever would in real life. Fair enough, there's certainly a place for absurdity and crudity in movies, but writer/director Jordan Roberts' (Around the Bend) film punishes its audience for caring about what he's set up in the first act by quickly transforming into an unglued mass of nonsense, one that seems as cruel to the audience as it does to its cast.
Frankie has an uneasy relationship with his brother. Bruce (Chris O'Dowd) has always been a bit of a fuck up; in fact, when we meet him as an adult, he's just finishing up a stint in rehab. There's little, if any, kind of fraternal bond between these guys. Bruce constantly tortured Frankie when they were kids, perpetrating an endless series of pranks on Frankie so he could videotape them. It's been years since the brothers have seen each other, thanks to Bruce allowing Frankie's humiliation at his wedding to go viral on the internet.
After attending Bruce's exit ceremony from rehab with his parents (Nora Dunn and Sam Anderson), Frankie quite literally crashes into Lassie (Lizzy Caplan). She's drunk and very recently jilted, so, of course, they decide to go back to Frankie's place to have sex, which is all fine and dandy, except Frankie can't quite seal the deal physically. Well, guess what, Bruce videotaped the entire thing and plans to share his "film" with others. Bruce passes the goods on to Jack (Chris Noth), a washed up actor who he met in rehab, who, of course, ends up being Lassie's father. The entire film devolves into a banal dash to get the sex tape before Jack sees it or it hits the web.
Here's the thing: most all of these actors deserve better than what they're dealt here, especially Ron Perlman whose ex-convict in drag (okay, post-op gender reassignment) routine is played in the most obvious direction it could ever go. It's enough to make one wonder if any of the actors read beyond the first thirty pages of the script before signing on to the project. It's almost more of an insult to the audience that 3, 2, 1...Frankie Go Boom begins well enough before becoming the boring, convoluted mess it will be remembered for being, if it's remembered at all.
3, 2, 1...Frankie Go Boom opens at the Hollywood Theatre on Friday, October 12th.More info available here.
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Born Jerome Felder, Doc Pomus was an extraordinary figure when he first hit the music scene, a white, Jewish blues singer paralyzed by polio as a child. The fact that his music was exceptional only added to the befuddlement of audiences and record executives. The new documentary AKA Doc Pomus delves into both the striking figure he was as a performer as well as the absolute phenom that he later became as a songwriter in the Brill Building scene of the early rock and roll era, penning such classics as "Save the Last Dance for Me,""This Magic Moment,""Little Sister,""A Teenager in Love," and countless more hits.
Drawing from a wealth of interviews ranging from conversations with his ex-wives and son to the many musicians whose paths intersected with Pomus (Ben E. King, Lou Reed, Shawn Colvin, B.B. King, Dion, etc.), the documentary paints Pomus as a sometimes tortured genius who was blessed with extended periods of reprieve from his sorrows while effortlessly drawing from them for lyrical inspiration. The endless soundtrack of hits speaks far more loudly than any of the interviews could about this man, responsible for so many of the songs that defined the times in which he lived.
If there's a fault to find, it's in the repetitive nature of the interviews as the discussion shifts to the end of Doc's life, something that commonly occurs in these kinds of biographical documentaries (see the otherwise fantastic Who Is Harry Nilsson (And Why Is Everybody Talkin' About Him)? for another example of such missteps). Overall, AKA Doc Pomus is a treat for fans of both his songs and the particular era of rock and roll in which he wrote them.
AKA Doc Pomus screens
at the NW Film Center's Whitsell Auditorium (in the Portland Art
Museum) as a part of the Reel Music Festival series on Friday , October 12th at 7pm. More info available here. Remember to find and "like" us on our Facebook page.
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All events will be held at the historic Hollywood Theatre. Ticket info can be accessed here.
And now, because I know everyone just wants to take a look at what's in store for them during the festival, on to the trailers:
The 6th annual Portland Latin American Film Festival runs from Friday, October 12th through Thursday, October 18th at the Hollywood Theatre.More info available here.
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Photographic Memory marks the welcome return of documentary filmmaker Ross McElwee (Sherman's March, Time Indefinite). When McElwee first burst on the scene, his work was unique for the way it blurred the line between subject and maker; McElwee has always been front and center in his films, using the base materials of his life as narrative elements that guide his stories towards undetermined places.
For better or worse, his style has become a common strategy in
non-fiction filmmaking, so much so that when I recently tried to explain
who McElwee was to a friend, they responded, "so is he the one to blame
for Morgan Spurlock, then?" Which is kind of neither here nor there, as Spurlock has made good work in the past and has even shown some signs of growth in his recent projects.
McElwee, on the other hand, has never exploited his style in a
self-aggrandizing way; in fact, most of his films have been deeply
introspective, questioning his own flaws and always finding a larger
theme to anchor the overall piece.
Such is the case with Photographic Memory. The film finds McElwee struggling to understand and connect with his teenage son Adrian.
Ross shares the worries that many have about their kids, that they're
unfocused, lost, experimenting too heavily with drugs, alcohol, and
other risky behaviors. Adrian has many creative interests. Like his father, he's constantly filming himself and his friends (mostly while snowboarding backwards). He's also interested in web design and is trying to become an entrepreneur of sorts. But, as Ross points out, there are just far too many interests and only so much energy, so much of what the younger McElwee begins ends up poorly done or unfinished.
While questioning his son's behavior, McElwee begins to dive back into his own past to examine what he was up to when he was his son's age. The investigation sends him back to St. Quay-Portrieux in Brittany where he once worked as a photographer's assistant, before being fired in a mix-up about lost negatives. McElwee searches for his former employer as well as an old flame, ruminating on his past as he journeys through the familiar and forgotten spaces of the small French town by the sea.
Photographic Memory feels like a warm reunion with an old friend. If you've loved any of McElwee's prior works, you'll instantly be drawn back into the kind of unguarded, reflective video journals that McElwee is brave enough to share with his audiences. For those who have never encountered a Ross McElwee film, this is as good enough a place to start as any, as it certainly contains more than enough universally experienced material as it filters through its maker's most recent set of concerns.
Recommended.
Photographic Memory screens at the IFC Center in NYC on Friday, October 12th. More info available here. Remember to find and "like" us on our Facebook page.
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Not all the good film events in Oregon happen in Portland. Yeah, I know, it's hard to believe but there are great things happening outside the borders of our fair city. Think about it, there's BendFilm, the Ashland Independent Film Festival, and now there's The Living River Film Festival in Eugene. Presented by the McKenzie River Trust, the festival concentrates on "the stunning and unique landscapes that surround us...connecting audiences to our Oregon landscapes, celebrating them through film."
The Living River Film Festival is a three-day fundraising event with chances to meet and greet filmmakers and guest speakers, watch movies with a like-minded audience, and, yes, because it is Eugene, even participate in tree-climbing events. Oh, and did I mention that Eugene's own "Slug Queen" will be there on Sunday? Yeah, that's happening!
